


Moth Wings by Moonlight

by Pollys_hymnia



Series: Elrond's Encyclopedia of Cryptozoology [1]
Category: Mothman (Folklore), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Blows to the Head, Breaking and Entering, Crack, Egalmoth is Mothman, Egalmothman, Gandalf agrees, Gen, Magical cures, Mothman, Pure Crack, Turgon's Staff of Doom, cryptid, seriously it's just crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-01 13:19:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17867990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pollys_hymnia/pseuds/Pollys_hymnia
Summary: Gandalf comes across a strange tale in his search for further information on Gondolin.  It concerns Egalmoth:Egalmoth, in his accursed Mothman form, breaks into Turgon's chamber as he sleeps.  Only to litter it with manuscripts.





	Moth Wings by Moonlight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [actuallyfeanor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/actuallyfeanor/gifts).



Glamdring it was called, the foe-hammer.  Long, sharp, and deadly—not for nothing did the orcs fear it.  And how Gandalf had come to find it, hidden in a foul troll-hole, was a strange tale in and of itself.  But many such tales had woven themselves around him over the years, he was a wizard after all.  Take the business with the dragon and the hobbit, for instance.  

But that business was over now and Gandalf had returned to Rivendell once more.  He had already learned what he could about his sword from Lord Elrond, but decided he wanted to attempt further research.  The libraries of Rivendell were vast and extensive, and Gandalf was not an infrequent visitor there.  Even so, there were many unusual scrolls and piles of aging parchment that he had neither seen nor touched before.  It was in one such of these that he found a strange story while searching among the histories of Gondolin.  It had been forgotten by those who still dwelt in Middle Earth, and ran like this:

 

The open window by moonlight, the warm summer breeze faintly fanning the airy drapes.  The shadows shifting and flowing gently in and out of the billows of silk.  In the stillness he came, in the dark.  In the quiet peaceful night where the king lay asleep in his bed, dreaming.

On warm nights the king often left his window open, uncovered in the high stone tower.  None had yet come there, a hidden chamber in his hidden realm.  And yet tonight was unlike all others.  A great shape alighted on the broad sill and blotted out the moon’s light with its bulk.

Two great wings it had, each longer than Turgon was tall.  If they were some other color than black, blue or purple perhaps, it could not be discerned in the dimness.  Two plumes like antennae rose from its misshapen head, tufted with what was almost fur, and led down to its huge, red eyes.  They glowed like angry embers in the gloom.

It was Mothman.  He had come—cursed, transformed.  On the night of the full moon he haunted the skies above Gondolin, and dared now to enter the king’s own room.

For months, the faint rumor of a man-shaped horror with wings had been whispered fearfully by firelight.  Families huddled together would speak stories of the man who wore an insect shape and drank the blood of the innocent.

No deaths had yet been discovered, no wounds come to light.  Still, by the mysterious scatterings of parchment scraps riddled with disgraceful words, his infamy grew.

Now Mothman stooped silently over the slumbering king.  Wings tucked back, and antennae low, he appeared almost mournful if anyone had laid eyes on him.  With loving care, he scattered the unnumbered pages of a manuscript throughout the quiet room.  They were testament to a forbidden love that was never to be, one Turgon himself had closed his heart against.

Abruptly the king arose from his soporific state, roused by a sudden sense of warning.  Eyes wide with horror, he looked upon the looming shadow of Mothman outlined sharply by the moonlight.

Turgon opened his mouth to scream—but he could conjure no sound in his utter terror.  Swiftly he rose and laid his hand upon his Staff of Doom.  Brandishing it with a mighty blow he struck the creature.  Once, twice, thrice.  Mothman fell to the floor.

There he remained and he lay still and lifeless on the cold stone.  Turgon cautiously approached to ascertain whether or not his foe was truly subdued.  Gradually as he watched, its wings melted into shadows like smoke and its antennae dissolved like wisps of cloud.  The enormous form before him seemed to shrivel until it was only half the size.

Where once the monster had been, there now was Egalmoth. 

Turgon, panic stricken that he had struck down one of his own lords, bent down to listen for Egalmoth’s breath.  Did he yet live? Or had he too slain his own kin?

As Turgon felt the faint puff of warmth against his ear, relief flooded his heart.

Turgon let the Staff of Doom drop to the floor with a heavy clang.  Pushing past his bewilderment, he ran to fetch one of his guards for aid.  He could not explain how or why Egalmoth had come to be unconscious in his room, only that he needed healing.  Turgon could not explain what he had seen, and wondered now if it had been some spell or trick of his mind.

Returning to his room, he began to gather piece-by-piece the parchment that littered his room in disarray.  No, he could not deny the reality of what he had seen, even if it could not be explained.  Mothman had visited him that night.  And Mothman was in fact Egalmothman.

 

Gandalf set the old parchment down, releasing a fine spray of dust as he did so.  He contemplated the words he had just read and wondered if he had ever heard tell of anything stranger. In all his dealings with moths and men—and elves—he had never considered a cross between the two.  But perhaps there was indeed more to some things, some moths, than meets the eye.

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably the most random thing I have ever written, and I'm sorry. Kind of. And did I just imply Gandalf's moth is Egalmoth? Sure did.


End file.
